Doctor and Mrs Smith
by Yours Jane x
Summary: Set after 'The Crimson Horror'. What if Mrs Gillyflower's plan had worked? And what is the Doctor had not been rejected, but placed next to Clara in their little house? What if they really became Doctor and Mrs Smith?
1. Chapter 1: Oh Happy State

**What if Mrs Gillyflower's plan had worked? And what is the Doctor had not been rejected, but placed next to Clara in their little house? What if they really became Doctor and Mrs Smith?**

**1893 – New Yorkshire – Doctor John Smith and Mrs Clara Smith**

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There wasn't a flash, or a bang, or even the slightest rumble. It did not feel as if they were waking from sleep; their first breaths did not feel like their first, for they were not rapid or deep, just normal, being routine when alive and settled, as they believed they were and so this was not new. They were not being reborn: this was just another second passing and not the first one, not to them, just another unnoticeable second of their lives. They were just there, as to them they have always been, Doctor and Mrs Smith, sat together in their drawing room, newly married and very much in love.

Their sofa was small, but they liked it that way. Smiling, they just sat, sinking slowly closer, relaxed, comforted by each other's warmth.

"Ooh my love" Her John half-whispered. His words, soft yet rough, gently whistled over her hair; his breath, warm and low, added heat to his words; and his love, his wife, _his_ Clara, forever adorable in her actions, nestled her head further into the crook of his neck, in search of more warmth, in hope more of his sweet nothings. And yes his next words did make her smile, although undoubtedly more a smile of amusement than amour.

"There were trouble up t'mill, today."

This did not worry her, he was just telling her about his day, as he always did; and she trusted him. "Some young lad, Thomas, blond, distracting, but good lad, there was a little incident, hurt his arm, had to be bound up, and..." He tripped in his speech trying to force a pause. He was starting to babble, which he knew very well could lead to him saying something he'd soon regret, and then blush – the latter especially was something _his_ Clara never failed to take note of –; thus, smartly, the good doctor chose to end his words quickly with "He'll be alright though." and kissed the top of her head, in case, he told himself, she needed reassuring. He knew his Clara cared so much about children and that, he told himself again, was why he had to kiss her.

But she never worried, she never needed to. "I know he will." She replied, hugging him. "For _my_ Doctor saved him. That's what he does." Her words said, she went to place a small kiss on his cheek, only for him to join her half way with his lips – whether accidently or on purpose, she did not know (of course, he would have claimed the former had she inquired, but then, such was rule one, he did lie – well, he lied sometimes). Such familiarity still held great sweetness, great novelty, because they were only recently married, they believed; that was why there were still hints of flailing and blushing on his part and small hidden smiles on hers.

This kiss was small, but they liked it nonetheless, for it omitted the same old unceasing smiles and amplified their happiness. Long seconds passed in noiseless bliss, before lips parted, eyes fluttered open and they silently basked in each other.

"Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,  
When love is liberty, and nature, law:  
All then is full, possessing, and possess'd,  
No craving void left aching in the breast:  
Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,  
And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.  
This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be)  
And once the lot of..."

Eventually Clara broke the silence, amused once again; this time by her husband's happy dopey face, herself not privileged to the poetry echoing inside his head. "So what else did you do today, Chin Boy, apart from blush?" She teased. Unprepared, he spluttered. "I, umm... well... Oh shut up." She always made him fluster, and for that her nose was gently wiggled, causing small giggles and bigger smiles. What he did today was the same he did every day: he tried to make people better. He was a Doctor after all, wasn't he? He was The Doctor and "You're impossible." he added aloud, now grinning, "My Impossible Girl."

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**Only the start. I hope to write more soon, but presently struck down with the sniffles. Please read and review, thank you. I hope you like it.**


	2. Chapter 2: Bliss

**I'm back. Only a diddy chapter I'm afraid.**

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His Impossible Girl lent forward 'till their foreheads touched. The small smitten smile plastered on her face was irremovable: she was drunk on love (as was he).

The laughter stopped and the Doctor's breath hitched as their eyes met. What he now saw called for a much different form of merriment. Swirling deep in his wife's eyes was a deep look that he normally only glanced in sweet passing or, he sometimes worried, in jest. Within her wide minstrel orbs, clear as day, bold as brass, lay not only love but lust! And goodness did it look appealing. There she lay, lovely, lush-filled and half on top of him, on the smallest of sofas, biting her bottom lip and looking at _him_ with such _longing_.

His mind flooded with the stray sentiments he found his mouth couldn't say: "Oh Clara, my pretty Clara, I suppose I'm the only one who knows how I feel about you right n..." He stamped on his unheard utterances, diminishing the pitiful flames, for, if indeed his thoughts were fact, he needed them changed: he couldn't lose her, not _his_ Clara, not for the sake of silence.

If he couldn't tell her, he would have to show her.

When their lips met again, it was not with the small kisses of barely moments before, now lust mingled with love, tongue mingled with tongue and moan mingled with moan. The young couple, blind to the world, danced, hypnotised, drunk; lost in unattempted metaphors for this bliss they only knew. All now was bliss.

Before they had married, she had thought, she had told herself not to fall in love with this Doctor. She had scolded herself repeatedly, frequently, about the falling motion, notion, that she felt, concerning him. She had listed the problems, noted every glitch: although he looked young, he was quite a bit older; she had two children to look after, two children that she loved, two children without a mother and with a distant distressed father; and this tall bumbling Doctor did seem to attract trouble.

She had warned herself about love, but now other things were on her mind.


	3. Chapter 3: Unexpected Pleasantness

He had once told somebody that they had been upstairs kissing, that he was her gentleman friend, as an excuse for his unexpected presence. At the time, it was an unexpected explanation, though a not wholly unpleasant one. Now she could think of nothing better.

"Ooh my love" Her John murmured against her neck, placing peck after peck along her jaw. "_My_ Clara"

Yes_, his_ Clara relished his caresses, the closeness of his body. Oh yes. But she could not hold him any closer! And why must her jaw get all the joy? These heated thoughts settled; this spice of frustration began to boil... There were clothes in the way. They would have to go!

She started on his tie. All the times she remembered him proudly jostling his bow tie tangled and melted. This one was now gone. She had flung it somewhere. She didn't care for its landing, only its owner, whose suppression, on many fronts, now failed: he could not hide his smugness, his small smirks, which were bore by her quick progress and undeniable enthusiasm; he could not hide the tugging in his trousers, which had once caused him to jolt up so suddenly even he was shocked – he had been thinking of the tightness of her skirts at the time and most fortunately was without company; and now he simply could not hide his total joy in her and kissed her fast with smiles, _his _Clara, who was now ushering off his jacket.

He chuckled. "You're going to have to take your clothes off too, you know."

Not wishing to break away from her lips for a second longer then necessary, he reached down, blindly, hoping to find a laced boot or perhaps the edge of a stocking; however, the only blackness his hand found was shadows – he had missed and brushed and stroked her skirt-covered calf instead, causing unexpected but altogether pleasant purrs. "I know... I understand... I do." She managed breathlessly as reply.

All he could manage was "Good". His hand had found an even better route to sway her senses, to show her how he felt.


	4. Chapter 4: Needs

He did find her boot, but he past it; he found her stocking too, but that received little more interest; and her drawers were a pest and a blessing. They stopped his hand in its tracks and so he spent time writing circles on her thinly-covered thighs, curled words of love and affection, illegible to all but them. Such touches left rivers of tingles on her skin and tugged Clara's attention away from removing his waistcoat and shirt with any patience. She cared no longer for the buttons, only him.

His hand edged closer to her very self. She knew no longer anything but him, and yet a small star still twinkled in her dark eyes, a glimmer of a tease, to taunt him, her Chin Boy... No, Man! No boy could do that! His fingers had moved, were moving over muslin and across her lower self, and with increasing speed and stress.

She had been holding down, with tight teeth, a pleased simper. Now, as temptation mixed with satisfaction, she lifted her soft bite to reveal a whimpering wit's words: "So that's what you do, you just crook your finger and people just..." She yanked off his shirt and raised an eyebrow as it flew across the room "...fly away."

At this she expected words of equal charm to flow; she did not expect that newly bare torso to press hard against her frustratingly, even now, mainly clothed form, tough lips to press hard against her simpering own and forceful fingers to remove that last layer of weak white material, which has served well as screen, and press hard just there.

"Oh John"

His other hand, with help from her own, made quick work of the buttons on the front of her dress, though their joined and renewed lack of patience did hinder matters, a little: their chests needed to touch, as did their lips. They needed each other.

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**31st May: You'll get the rest of the chapter soon. Right now, it's bedtime for me... 1st June: Oh Matt is leaving. Oh it had to come some time, but Oh...**

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"_My _Clara" He sighed. Together they had removed her dress completely; and the frilled billow of whiteness that was her remaining undergarments left him bedazzled. Her frame was small, and appeared especially so when compared with his altogether lanky form, but her half-covered bosom was full and heaving – hence the need for his trousers to join her dress in quick departure. Through the pearly gates, heaven could be seen and it was no place for clothes.

She was already floating on those high-up clouds and he had brought her there.

"Oh... my... stars..."

They spoke now only in sighs and moans and movement. For her, propelling digits did breach and cause drain in sense and animation in senses. For him, that her hands regained their previous boldness and sought his standard added excitement to the elation he was already lost to.

Pleasure dulled sight; still Clara felt herself gifted, for, with her daring paws, she saw... Now what did Fanny Hill say? Oh yes... "not the plaything of a boy, nor the weapon of a man, but a Maypole... It stood an object of terror and delight." Touches of ecstasy were his fingers; and there lay heaven.

The need for air paused their kisses and eyes opened from the deep, locking in fervour. Hazel on brown, soft on wide, looked. Short quick breaths simmered, as silent permission was requested and granted willingly. The gates were to open.


	5. Chapter 5: Thoughts

One might have thought their bed a better place for their present state of affection, and so might they had their minds any room left for logic – even so, it was their hearts that were captaining their bodies in this moment of feeling; their minds merely flummoxed by sensations electrical and hot, becoming clouds of old thoughts.

Her corset, as always, had caused a little bother. It was removed, however, along with the rest of their attire, in a rush of want – want for the mutual connection of their two forms; a remarriage of flesh and feeling. The prequel ceased in their physical union and low utterances of names; thrusts of overwhelming sway, which caused the little sofa to thud bluntly against the back wall of the little room; and pleasure most audible indeed.

"Oh John!"

She refused to scream, in case, she hold herself, the neighbours' ears twitched; nonetheless, her calls could easily be defined as moans, whilst his...

"Oh Clara! _My_ Clara!"

... more like groans.

All increased: pleasure, expression, infatuation... everything. One wouldn't wonder at the good doctor again jolting up suddenly, the present state of his manhood being what it was – quite magnificent! Although the man himself would more likely describe it as "cool" or, in his younger days, "fantastic". In fact, no, only to himself might he describe it so in a rare moment of pride; concerning others, any hint towards such things would be swiftly avoided with bumbles and busyness and blushes; and, if it could be helped, he'd rather talk of jam biscuits and fezzes any day of the week – well, apart from... it could possibly get a mention at moments like this. It wasn't impossible: his Impossible Girl was there.

A pulsating tumult infused them both, him and his Impossible Girl, in a gifted state of rhythm, which whisked away puns and poetry in exchange for the directness of tongues and thoughts.

His thoughts floated. When he once told her she was the boss, it was in casual passing initially voiced. Now, as she turned so as to place herself above him, he realised the truth of his old words and truth of his new ones:

"Oh Clara." He rubbed her cheek with his thumb. "Oh. You are beautiful."

She smiled, wide and sweet, and kissed him softly on his cheek as reply. Oh but she was a beautiful paradox: a sweet, wide-eyed image of impossibility and girlish innocence, conjoined with him, hips pounding, teases shining in those midnight eyes.

As heaven's clouds moved, his thoughts wondered. They had first met at Christmastime, when the icy ground lent itself to early interaction. She had ended up above him then too, though back then they had been fully clothed, right up to his top hat and a shared umbrella. They had tripped and fallen, she on him. It had been an accident, of course, yet neither was quick to remove themselves from the other and his hand may have even found its way to her waist, and lingered, even then.

Above _her_ John once more, Clara reminded herself "I'm the Boss", whilst shivers of sensation from her nakedness and passion reminded her of the old coldness of lost winter moments shared with this mad man. The silent motto lingered on her tongue and, combined with her memories, added confidence to her emotions, giving them evidence and encouragement.

And so on each beat, their rhythm increased further and so too did the pleasure felt. These naked forms, conjoined in every feeling, ground deeply into each other together; their throbbing centres ached; their skin burnt bright red.

As his wife's crimson kisses, which seconds ago had scorched his collar bone, moulded into shadows and quick breathes, the Doctor felt truly that he dwelt on heaven's clouds: he was privileged to this...


	6. Chapter 6: To Bed

Clara's expression betrayed the climax of her core: whimpered moans and flushed skin, forgotten kisses and a last hungry plunge. The sight was to her husband everything overpowering and caused his manhood to pulsate to its own peak. He filled her strong. To exit her was to feel empty, so to hold her tight was all he could now do.

Rapid breath soon calmed and the coolness of the evening engulfed their unclothed forms. He could not bear to watch her shiver. Thinking himself the gallant knight, he picked her up, only to receive _that_ look.

His only defence: "Clara, just this once, just for the hell of it, let me carry you up to bed."


End file.
